


Snake Charmed

by Megan



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Other Riders - Freeform, Monster of the Week, Post-Canon, Sex Pollen, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 11:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: "An American engineer named Murphy once--" Oh, no. No, no, no. Philip can give him all the history lessons he wants when Shoutarou isn't literally about to die."Philip, this is not the time for that." He dodges the Dopant's tail, then only just manages to roll out of the way of some kind of slime attack. "Your keyword for this Dopant isspitting cobra, now please get here before it poisons me or melts me with acid or whatever it's trying to do!"Okay. Now he just needs to dodge until Philip gets here, even if it crushes his soul a little bit to see Windscale's fall collection ruined by whatever this thing is spitting.





	Snake Charmed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kandrona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandrona/gifts).



It's been at least six months since anyone's seen a Dopant, far and away the longest they've gone without one since before Begins Night. And considering that had been ten years ago and they've been breaking every Gaia Memory they come across since then, at some point the supply is going to dry up. That's just... physics. Statistics? The law of supply and demand?

Hell if he knows. If he wants to know which academic discipline answers this, he'll ask Philip. (He's not going to ask Philip. Down that path lies suffering and also a forty minute lecture about the economics of scarcity. He knows this because he's been there, done that, had date night derailed by that.)

What Shoutarou does know is that he really should have expected the first Gaia Memory in six months to crop up the one time he leaves home without his driver. At this point, _inconvenience Shoutarou Hidari whenever possible_ has to be written into the city bylaws.

In his defense, it's been a busy morning. He's been trying to convince Akiko that the office needs a secretary and definitely does not need a computer, arguing with Philip about going to an optician instead of pretending he doesn't squint at the whiteboard, and investigating what's _supposed_ to be a perfectly mundane case of an accountant embezzling from Windscale. With all that going on, it's no wonder he'd forgotten to pick up the driver he hasn't needed to use in months.

So of course the accountant is the first Dopant he's seen in ages. That's it, that's his life.

"I thought those new kids were supposed to take care of this," he mutters as he ducks behind a row of boxes, more to himself than to the weird snake Dopant writhing around across the warehouse. Why would the snake Dopant care? Shoutarou doesn't even care which new kid he means! Hino-- whose name Shoutarou only remembers because his father's the Prime Minister, if he's being honest-- and his friends the weird jet ski guys, that turtle-whispering banana guy, the detective who won't stop calling Terui... there are too many of them, and not a single one of them is accomplishing a damn thing.

Oh God, he's becoming his seventy year old self. Today he's complaining about kids ruining everything; tomorrow he'll be sobbing with Akiko about their lost youth. He's had that nightmare before.

Better yet: instead of pinning all his hopes on the ineffective youth of today, he can call Decade to deal with this. Harassing his own elders sounds like a great way to feel young and ineffective again.

Before he can decide whether to call Philip or make this someone else's problem, and by someone else he definitely now means Tsukasa Kadoya, his phone rings. As usual, Philip's sense of timing is both amazing and awful all at once.

"You forgot your driver," Philip says. He's still not a believer in pleasantries, no matter how many times Akiko yells at him to have a professional demeanor on the phone. "Are you still at the Windscale warehouse?"

"Yes, and I didn't forget it. I didn't think I needed it." Boss would be ashamed of him. Leaving without the driver is at almost as bad as leaving without his hat. _Almost._

"An American engineer named Murphy once--" Oh, no. No, no, _no_. Philip can give him all the history lessons he wants when Shoutarou isn't literally about to die at the nonexistent hands of a criminal who's turned herself into a giant prehistoric snake.

"Philip, this is not the time for that." He dodges the Dopant's tail, then only just manages to roll out of the way of some kind of slime attack. "Your keyword for this Dopant is _spitting cobra_ , now please get here before she poisons me or melts me with acid or whatever she's trying to do!"

Okay. Now he just needs to dodge until Philip gets here, even if it crushes his soul a little bit to see Windscale's fall collection ruined by whatever this thing is spitting. Whatever it is, it can't be good for a poor silk-cotton blend that never did anything to anyone.

He _almost_ manages it, too. He hears a bike come to a stop outside, and the door nearest to him creaks open. At the same moment it does, his dodge veers off course and sends him crashing into a box of hats. Before he can pick himself back up-- before he can do anything but think a brief _sorry, hats_ \-- something hits the exposed side of his face.

Something slimy.

"Enjoy yourself, Kamen Rider," the Dopant says in what's somehow both a hiss and a giggle. How is it that the more bottom-of-the-bargain-bin these Dopants get, the more horrifying they are?

"Shoutarou?" Once again, Philip's sense of timing can't decide which side of the just in time versus barely too late duality it wants to live on. It's like what's his name with the cat, Schrödinger, and the less he thinks about Philip's terrifying foray into quantum physics two years ago the better.

"Oh, good." God, this Dopant's voice is awful. There is a reason why snakes don't talk, and said reason must be that nobody needs to hear them hissing and spitting. "It works much better when there are two of you."

She slithers away, presumably because she wants to do her whole spitting cobra thing with Philip.

The good news about that whole spitting cobra thing: Shoutarou's face hasn't melted off, which means it's probably not acid. And he's not dead, blind, or hallucinating his face off, either. If this does have some catastrophic effect, it's slow-acting enough for them to have time to break the memory and fix it. Or it doesn't do anything at all, but when has anything in Shoutarou's life ever been that convenient?

Not this time, at least. When he stands up, the room tilts around him like he's had a few too many with Jinno. He's practiced enough to keep on his feet, and if a little dizziness is the worst thing about this he can handle it. Philip can use Fang, and any problems with Shoutarou's balance won't matter.

...or he can fall back down onto the sad pile of crumpled hats-- and at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if his sins against Windscale are beyond counting-- because that's what he does. He's been downgraded from a night drinking with Jinno to a night drinking with Queen and Elizabeth, which is something he never quite expects to survive. Even sitting up feels like a bad idea.

Also, it's way too hot in here. How does a warehouse this big go from air conditioned to boiling hot in a second? Besides the Heat memory, but that's not the problem here because if it were the problem _he would have his driver and not be in this mess in the first place_.

Philip is still hidden behind rows of boxes, but it's easy enough to put together what's happening by the sound. There's hissing and slithering, and then Fang screeches and there's a splatter.

Good killer dinosaur robot Gaia Memory.

"Shoutarou?" Philip calls out again.

"Over here," Shoutarou manages to yell, even though it feels like a huge amount of effort. How are Philip and the Dopant moving around so fast when it's so hot in here?

Any and all coherent thought gets steamrollered the second Philip barrels around the corner. It's still too hot in here, but now he's less dizzy and more totally unable to look at anything but Philip. Who is totally disheveled from running, hair flying everywhere and face flushed and it's really not fair that he looks like he's just had sex when Shoutarou has been over here by himself in his sad hat pile--

Oh, shit. He's pretty sure he knows what's in that cobra venom.

Philip kneels down next to him, looking entirely too distressed for this situation. At least until Shoutarou grabs him by the front of the shirt and kisses him, because suddenly the thought of doing anything else is unbearable. Except then he sounds even more distressed than he'd just looked, and shoves Shoutarou back.

_That's_ not what's supposed to happen right now.

"Shoutarou, this is the Lamia Dopant," he says. "If you get the venom on me, we'll both be out of commission."

It's kind of too late for that. Shoutarou can see where it's smeared from his face to Philip's, and Philip follows where he's looking until his fingers glide through the slime and he realizes what's just happened.

"This is less than optimal." Philip stops pushing him further away, but does hold him at arm's length. "We will have to rely on Ryu Terui to hold off the Dopant until the effect wears off, and there is a very strong probability that he will scream and run away despite his immunity."

The Dopant comes slithering around the corner and stops well short of them, so irritating that her hissing manages to distract him from the very important matter of Philip looming over him. She needs to go away so he can get his attention back where it belongs: on his partner, who is somehow unhappy with this situation. Maybe he's got that irritated look on his face because a horrible snake Dopant is interrupting them.

Yeah, that makes sense.

She just blinks her creepy snake eyes in their direction for a second. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the air. That hissing noise is definitely her creepy laugh, back for an encore that no one had needed.

Then she turns around and slithers away without another word, without coming any closer to them. Philip straightens up, shakes off Shoutarou's grip, and takes a step towards the enemy. He makes it two steps forward before he hits the ground, dropping to his knees with all the grace of someone who gets plenty of practice falling on his face at the most inconvenient possible times.

Philip tries to get up and fails, and then settles for crawling forward on his hands and knees. Which is so hot that there's no way it doesn't qualify as a crime, and would even if weird Dopant sex poison weren't involved.

When he gets back to Shoutarou-- which doesn't take very long, considering that he'd only made it a couple of steps away in the first place-- he drops from his hands and knees to settle right on top of him. Absolutely, one hundred percent a crime.

"We should finish this and clear the poison from our systems as quickly as possible," Philip says, but now his voice is less the chipper _let me explain exactly how you have fucked this up and why you are wrong about it_ voice and more the sexy _let me explain exactly what pornographic new thing I have learned about today and would like to try_ voice.

That's a good tone of voice. Definitely in his top five favorite things of all time. Even if this isn't the right time for that, and he's becoming less and less sure of _that_ with every passing second. Maybe if he gives in, it will stop feeling like a furnace in here. A furnace that is also on a boat, because the floor still doesn't feel entirely stable under him.

Philip isn't kidding when he says _as quickly as possible_. He's already got his hands on Shoutarou's belt buckle, but before he undoes it he looks right down at Shoutarou's face like he's examining a specimen. He's sending awfully mixed signals right now.

"I wonder if your stronger reaction is due to your larger dose, or if it's merely the longer exposure time." Philip should be worried about doing something with his hands, not talking about science. Even if he knows, vaguely, that said science is important and he really should be worried about it. "If it's the latter, I should finish this before I lose more control of my own faculties."

That, at least, is something Shoutarou can agree with. Sometimes science is great. When it's the sexy kind of science that means taking off his pants is part of the experiment.

He's been so worried about how everything else feels that his erection has been a complete afterthought until now, but it's definitely front and center once Philip unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

Once the pants are no longer an obstacle, Philip goes from zero to full blowjob in what feels like about a second. He doesn't even bother taking Shoutarou's pants off, which is something else that would probably be hot even if Shoutarou were in his right mind. What's less sexy-- but still perfectly welcome, because he's not exactly in a state to be picky about the kind of sex he's getting-- is the way Philip is treating his like it's his job to get Shoutarou off as quickly as possible.

It's hard to be affronted when Philip's fingers are digging into his thighs and his mouth feels perfect. Really, really hard.

As it goes on, though, the blowjob gets less hurried-- Philip slows down and goes deeper, lowering himself down with a muffled groan until Shoutarou is practically in his throat. His eyes are closed now, his cheeks flushed and his lips red where they're stretched around Shoutarou's dick. It's _great_ , at least until Philip stops moving and moans like he's never been more into anything in his life than deep-throating Shoutarou.

Which is also great, he's not complaining about that. It's just that it would be even better if Philip would combine it with the blowjob part.

"Philip," he rasps. No response, just another filthy noise and a squirm. Yeah. Philip is definitely into this. " _Philip._ "

When that doesn't work, he fists one hand in Philip's hair and pulls him forward. Not far-- there's not room to go far-- but just enough to remind him that moving would be a great idea. It works; Philip snaps out of whatever trance he's in and starts moving again.

This time it's messy and enthusiastic, like Philip doesn't care about how long it takes him to get Shoutarou off anymore-- and Shoutarou can't remember why he thinks that had been true, because why would he care about that?-- and would be content to do this all day. Yeah, all day sounds like a good plan.

Shoutarou has to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his groan at that thought. There's a reason they shouldn't be too noisy here, he's pretty sure. Maybe they had been on someone else's property and shouldn't get caught here? Whatever the reason is, he can't concentrate on it long enough to care.

Between the heat crawling under his skin and Philip's sudden enthusiasm, Shoutarou doesn't last long. He can feel his orgasm building up, a pressure that feels like it's going to tear him apart if he doesn't find a way to release it soon. It's just as oppressive and strange as the heat of the air around him, leaving his skin stretched too tight and his chest heavy with it.

When he does come, he can't even articulate a warning to Philip. He just tightens his grip and arches his back and howls against his other hand as the tension in him snaps like a broken rubber band and relief thrums through him. He thinks he might be mumbling Philip's name as he sags down onto the floor in a boneless sprawl. Never getting up again sounds like the best idea he's ever had.

"Shoutarou." Philip has barely swallowed and lifted his head before he starts chanting Shoutarou's name like a hoarse, desperate counterpoint to Shoutarou's maybe-unvoiced babble. "Shoutarou, Shou-- _mmmm._ "

The rest of his name is muffled into incomprehensibility when Philip takes his hand and sucks on two of his fingers.

Now that his earlier desperation has faded, Shoutarou can think again. Even with the admittedly pleasant distraction of Philip's tongue doing obscene things to his hand. Okay, so if coming had cleared his head like Philip had predicted, then all he has to do is get Philip off. He can do this; it's not like he hasn't had a decade of practice.

Before he does that, though he needs to let Terui know what's going on. Which means digging through his pockets, flipping his phone open one-handed, and attempting to compose the most embarrassing text message of his entire life. It's a good thing he's already gotten off and Philip has no idea what he's doing on his phone, because this is very high on the list of the biggest boner-killers of Shoutarou's entire life.

At least contact lists are a thing, so he doesn't have to remember anyone's phone number like this.

A quick, probably terribly-spelled SOS about the current Dopant out of the way, he tosses his phone aside and turns his attention back to Philip. He doesn't manage to wrestle his hand away-- and honestly he shouldn't, since this way it's muffling any noise Philip might make. So instead of doing anything more elaborate that would require changing positions, he slips his hand under Philip's waistband and reaches for his dick.

Philip's aversion to belts might not be fashionable, but at least it's useful at a time like this.

Now he gets what Philip had been trying to do with the hurried, perfunctory blowjob and why, and Shoutarou feels a little bad that he isn't going to get drugged and turn the world's quickest and dirtiest handjob into something more enthusiastic. He'll have plenty of time to make it up to him later, assuming that Philip is offended at all; he seems pretty into it. So into it that he comes even faster than Shoutarou had, shuddering and moaning and letting Shoutarou's fingers fall out of his mouth almost before they've gotten started. It's the fastest he's come in _years_.

Shoutarou has to wipe his hand off on one of the sad, crushed hats, which is absolutely one of the worst crimes he has ever committed. Given what he's already gone through today, maybe the universe has been preemptively punishing him for it.

They both lie there for a few minutes, Philip presumably to catch his breath and Shoutarou because he can't exactly get up with Philip on top of him. When Philip does finally roll off him and get to his feet, making sure his clothes are in order-- and making a face when he realizes that Shoutarou wasn't exactly considerate of the state of his clothing-- Shoutarou sits up reluctantly.

"We should find a sink and wash this off, in case it's possible to absorb more." Philip doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest by what's just happened, as if getting drugged by a Dopant and fucking in a warehouse isn't anything to be concerned about. "We finished quickly and I presume that you asked for backup, so this ended as well as could be expected."

Right. Backup. He should check his messages and see if Terui has accomplished anything.

_Understood_ is Terui's mercifully brief reply to Shoutarou's earlier text. Good, he's not making things any more awkward than they have to be.

Unfortunately, _Shoutarou_ is making things more awkward than they have to be: he seems to have sent the text to his entire contact list. He never should have let Akiko talk him into replacing his reliable old phone with a new one. It leads to things like horrific embarrasment and accidentally telling everyone he knows about the hideous sex monster he's just lost to.

_I DON'T PAY YOU FOR THIS_ is Akiko's only thought on the subject, thank every god that has ever existed. He has a good and benevolent boss and will not fight with her about hiring a secretary for a least a month. A week? Two days, probably.

_So this is the world of sexting..._ is Decade's response, because he's an asshole. Hino doesn't reply, but his two friends send _public indecency is a crime, Hidari_ and a long string of eggplant emojis, respectively. The Turtle Whisperer doesn't reply at all, which is probably for the best.

Shoutarou throws his phone again, and this time he hopes he breaks it. He's going to move to the Boss' cabin and become a hermit. Or at least a quasi-hermit who takes his boyfriend with him. There will be no computers, no phones, no snake monsters or unreasonable bosses or poorly socialized cops who somehow make him feel inadequate. Maybe he'll write a book.

"Shoutarou, please stop destroying your phone and wash the Dopant poison off your face," Philip calls out from wherever it is he's disappeared to, as pleasant and innocent as only someone who hasn't just traumatized his boss, been put on a watchlist, been spammed with tiny cartoon vegetables, and... whatever Decade thinks is going on.

Forget the city bylaws; hideously inconveniencing Shoutarou has to be written into international law by now.


End file.
